


Leave a Light On

by rubysharkruby



Series: Even in the Summer, Even in the Spring [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, Established Relationship, Homecoming, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24742402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubysharkruby/pseuds/rubysharkruby
Summary: Captain Little returns home after five months at sea.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Series: Even in the Summer, Even in the Spring [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789150
Comments: 26
Kudos: 72





	Leave a Light On

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to And All the Days after but, honestly, all you really need to know is they survived the expedition and shacked up together in a little house in Portsmouth.

As soon as the door closed behind them Edward found himself held against it and kissed. Tom’s mouth was ardent on his and his hands firm at Edward’s hips, pinning him in place, preventing him from pressing himself against Tom. Being so denied only stoked his passion higher and his own hands eagerly mapped the shape of Tom: shoulders and sides and back, hips and chest and finally that which was novel; the beard that Tom had not been sporting five months ago when Edward set sail.

Tom’s mouth was familiar but the soft rasp of hair leant his kiss an unexpected edge, making Edward draw back out of a foolish need to reassure himself that this was really his Tom, that he was really home. They had barely spent a night apart since their return to England and he hadn’t known how hard it would be to be parted again, how much of himself he would be leaving behind.

Tom nipped playfully at his fingers. “Do you like it?” he asked. “It came in a bit more grey than I was hoping.”

Most of his beard was a fine glossy black, flecked with the same silver threads that caught the light at his temples and hairline. A remnant of the expedition, Edward had thought until Tom admitted that he had been greying since he turned twenty-five and had previously taken great pains to conceal the fact. He had remained clean-shaven since Fort Resolution and seeing him today, standing on the dock to welcome the Valiant back from her Lisbon posting, so upright and handsome in his lieutenant’s uniform and the white of his smile dazzling against his dark beard, had taken the air from Edward’s lungs. It had been all he could do to greet him with the same restraint as the others who had gathered; to shake his hand and clap him on the shoulder when all he wanted to do was fit his body to Tom’s and breathe him in. It had been torture trying not to note the way his beard made his eyes appear brighter, his smile more knowing, and remain composed through the hours of Navy protocol until they were finally at liberty.

Instead of answering, Edward pulled Tom into another kiss. It had been a long five months and some nights he had dreamt only of this: the heat of Tom’s mouth, the intimate caress of lips and teeth and tongue. Tom made a pleased sound into the kiss, thumbs digging into the hollows of Edward’s hips when he tried to push forward, making him squirm. Making him burn hot knowing he was being kept exactly where Tom wanted him.

“Oh, so you _do_ like the beard?” Tom teased, nuzzling his furred cheek against Edward’s bare chin.

“The beard, yes. At this moment I can’t say I’m certain I much like the rest of you.”

It came out rather more breathless and pettish than he had intended, but it made Tom laugh and kiss him again. A brief taste before he pulled back, touching his forehead to Edward’s fevered brow. His hands dragged up from Edward’s waist to his ribcage and then down again, slow and purposeful.

“Come to bed,” he said, low. “And we’ll see if I can’t change your mind.”  


Once upstairs, Tom wasted no time in divesting them both of their uniforms. Usually, this was something he liked to linger over; a ritual Edward didn’t entirely understand but accepted as somehow important. That Tom let Edward help now with buttons and boots and fastenings before tumbling them both down onto the bed was the clearest sign yet that his need was as great as Edward’s.  


Heated skin and cool sheets. They wrestled for the sheer joy of being two strong healthy bodies moving against each other, with each other; the muscular twist of Tom’s hips and his wild laugh when Edward tried to catch hold of his wrists. Edward had bedded a number of men in his youth—some even in a bed—but it had always been such a deathly serious business, a thing of need and, frequently, shame. It had taken Tom to show him it could be like this. They were both flushed and panting by the time Tom’s mouth proved too much of a temptation and kissing took the rough edges from their play. Edward’s thighs parted at the leg Tom nudged between them, a delicious pressure that he surged against, luxuriating in the acres of warm smooth skin and shifting muscle. The thrum of blood and breath.  


The world tilted as Tom rolled them onto their sides. With the ease of familiarity, they crowded in close, hips slotting together and one of Tom’s arms beneath Edward’s head, hand in his hair. Tom’s other hand swept down Edward’s spine and then up his flank.  


It paused at his ribcage and he made a disapproving noise. “Your steward hasn’t been feeding you.”  


“I’m the same as I ever was,” Edward protested, though he didn’t in all honesty know whether that was true. His body wasn’t something he gave much thought when it wasn’t being touched by Tom. “Is this how you seek to improve my opinion of you? By inspecting me like a horse at market?”  


Tom touched his thumb to Edward’s mouth but Edward caught the wicked impulse in his look and pulled his hand away before he could make a show of examining Edward’s teeth. They wrestled again, briefly, before Edward brought it to an end by reaching down between their bodies and taking Tom in hand. He stroked slowly from root to tip, grip tighter than he would use on himself and with that turn of the wrist that made Tom’s breath catch and thicken. Edward kissed Tom’s open mouth as he caressed him. Thrilling at the hot soft skin laid over hardness and the perfect fit of it against his palm. How utterly different it was to touching himself.  


“You too,” Tom murmured, so Edward adjusted his grip to take hold of them both whilst they kissed and thrust against each other.  


Tom ran his free hand across Edward’s skin, tracing patterns against the scar on Edward’s shoulder that he had spent years never giving a second thought but now associated with all manner of things. His shudder and the desperate cant of his hips earnt him a moan and a series of whiskery, ticklish kisses to his bared throat.  


Tom’s hand moved lower, curving over Edward’s backside and kneading in the possessive, insistent way that made his breath grow short and his face hot.  


“Mm,” Edward groaned. “Tom, do you— Oh, do you want—?”  


“Shh.” Tom gave one last squeeze then spread his palm across the small of Edward’s back, encouraging the rhythm he wanted before reaching between them to add his hand to Edward’s and that was, oh, that was—  


“This is what I want,” Tom said into the crook of Edward’s neck. “Just this. This is everything I want.”

___

Edward woke in a state of some disorientation. The bed beneath him smelled warm and right but was unnaturally still, not bobbing and rising with the comforting swell of the sea. He drifted again before he could fully take hold of this puzzle and it was only when he resurfaced some unknown length of time later that he remembered he was home and in his own bed. He stretched languidly, rubbing his cheek against the sheets and breathing in the scent of him and Tom together.  


In time, he rolled onto his back and stretched again, knuckles rapping against the wooden headboard and toes flexing. The slight ache in his jaw and sense of loose satisfaction through his limbs made him hum, setting one hand beneath his head and resting the other on his bare stomach. After he and Tom had spilled over their joined hands they had lain together, sharing directionless caresses and quiet words. Edward had spoken of the journey, of having his own command, of Lisbon and all the ways it had changed; Tom had talked about his life here, his studies, the latest news from their families and friends. Eventually, their caresses had grown more purposeful and Edward moved down the bed to lay his head on Tom’s thigh. He fancied he could still feel the scrape of Tom’s beard against his most sensitive skin, still taste the release that had flooded his mouth at the very instant he had shuddered and come undone, unknowing and uncaring in that moment where he ended and Tom began.  


He must have fallen asleep afterwards. The curtains were half-drawn and the upper windowpane open, letting in salt-tinged air and a faint breeze that made the fabric ripple and sway. Mrs Bell from the house opposite was calling her son inside to help his father move a wardrobe and gulls shrieked and cried to each other in the distance—a sound that had meant home to Edward for the majority of his life now.  


By the light, it was early evening. Tom was nowhere in sight but he had left a full ewer and a clean cloth on the dresser so Edward poured water into the basin and gave himself a thorough wash, shedding some of his drowsiness along with a light film of sweat and other evidences of the afternoon’s exertions. His uniform was missing and in its place had been laid out a set of clothes he could tell at a glance were a mixture of his own and Tom’s. Edward’s trunk had accompanied them in the carriage home and there was a wardrobe full of his clothes in the small second bedroom they pretended was his; meaning there was no need for him to wear Tom’s clothes other than that Tom wanted him to.  


It was another of those rituals he didn’t quite understand. The laid-out clothes, the cups of tea in the evening, the polished forks and candleholders, even though their landlady’s niece came in twice a week to do for them. Edward had broached the subject cautiously when they first took up residence together, in the Bloomsbury flat Henry Winnett had insisted they use while he was at sea. Edward had been afraid Tom felt he had to do these things, that Edward would expect them because he was an officer—a commander now, even—and, though Tom had never been his steward, he had been a steward and performed a hundred small acts of service for Edward on Terror even when it hadn’t been his job to do so.  


“I don’t need a valet,” he had told Tom upon coming home to find him starching the collars of Edward’s shirts.  


Tom had regarded him, face an expressionless mask. He had filled out and almost fully recovered his health by then, but he still woke from nightmares more often than not and the skin beneath his eyes was bruise-dark.  


“I want to,” he had finally said. “You’ll let me, won’t you?”  


And of course Edward let him; he’d let Tom do anything that made him happy. He thanked him for the cups of tea and admired the shine Tom put on the silverware and he wore the clothes laid out for him each morning, no matter who they belonged to. Tom was two inches taller than he but carried most of that extra height through the chest and they were otherwise enough of a size that they could, and did, wear each other’s clothes without either of them appearing comical. Tom in particular had a fondness for wearing Edward’s brighter waistcoats and the scarf he had purchased as a midshipman in Malta nearly twenty years ago.  


As expected, Tom was wearing Edward’s blue waistcoat when Edward joined him downstairs. Their house was modest; two bedrooms upstairs and the ground floor divided into a small kitchen overlooking a similarly-sized garden and a sitting room with several pieces of well-loved furniture gathered about the fireplace. Before Edward sailed for Lisbon he and Tom had rearranged the room to make space for a desk in the corner and it was here that he found Tom now, surrounded by books and charts and sheets of paper covered in his careful, cramped handwriting as he studied for the lieutenant’s examination.  


Convincing the Admiralty to allow Tom to remain a lieutenant on the condition he did not serve at sea had been such a monumental undertaking that getting them to agree to this further concession had been almost simple in comparison. Tom joked that they had most likely surrendered out of fear Edward would start another letter-writing campaign, to which Edward would argue it had more to do with Tom having held his position at the dockyard for over a year now and the written testimonials of several superior officers who would attest to the quality of his work. Whatever the Admiralty’s motivation, the date of the examination had been set at four weeks hence and Edward had high hopes that the next time he set sail it would be with Tom at his side.  


Tom was already smiling, having heard him on the stairs, and tipped his head back for a kiss. He laughed as Edward drew the kiss out, cupping Tom’s face in both hands and stroking his thumbs over the soft hair.  


“You shouldn’t have let me sleep,” Edward told him. “I’ve wasted half the day.”  


“I like it when you sleep.” Tom’s voice was sugary innocence but his mouth curved wickedly against Edward’s, hands settling on his waist.  


Edward couldn’t help his huff of laughter or the heat that simmered through him at the words. He gave Tom’s lip a very gentle bite. “Rogue.”  


He drew back, still holding Tom’s smiling face between his hands and petting him. The texture of Tom’s beard and those white hairs glinting amongst the black was strangely captivating. “You made no mention of this in your letters,” he said, following the handsome line of Tom’s jaw to a denser patch of white beneath his left ear. “Nor did Kitty and Helen, though I knew you saw them at Easter. Did you swear them to secrecy?”  


“When have you ever known your sisters to keep a secret?” Tom pushed into Edward’s touch like a particularly large and contented housecat, eyes lively and beautiful enough to cause a delicate soreness to bloom in Edward’s chest despite the years spent charting their colours. “I didn’t have the beard at Easter. It’s new. I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”  


“Well, I do.”  


“The beard, but not me. Or have I redeemed myself?”  


Edward made an unconvinced noise and was rewarded with a snort and a light swat. Belatedly, he noticed his uniform, freshly-pressed and draped over the stiff-backed chair that only saw use when they had company.  


“One of your hems was crooked and a button coming loose,” Tom said, observing the direction of his gaze. “Your steward should have seen to that, but I daresay he knows his business.”  


Edward kissed him again for being ridiculous. “Have you given any thought to dinner?”  


“Billy and William sent a pie over when I said you’d be home. Mutton. And they want you to meet the new addition to the family. She’s supposed to be a mouser but I’ve seen livelier footstools. William dotes on her like a baby. Calls her his princess.”  


Edward smiled. It was all too easy to imagine gruff, soft-hearted William doting on a useless and indifferent cat while Billy quietly despaired and continued to set mousetraps.  


“I will be glad to meet her,” he told Tom. “But not tonight.”  


“No,” Tom agreed, lightly squeezing Edward’s waist. “Not tonight.”  


They passed the evening in quiet companionship. Tom continued his studies, occasionally consulting Edward’s opinion on some aspect of navigation, and Edward put the pie in the oven before retiring to the sofa with the pile of correspondence he had returned home to. He was cheered to find a letter from Henry Le Vesconte. Edward wasn’t entirely sure how he would categorise his relationship with Henry: engaging with him in conversation often left Edward with the impression that some subtle joke was being made at his expense, but surviving the expedition had made them, if not precisely friends, then something to each other. It was a bond neither was willing to sever and ever since Henry’s invaluable contribution towards securing Tom’s commission the two of them had exchanged regular letters and would raise a glass to absent friends whenever their paths crossed at naval functions.  


There were also letters from Edward’s mother, his brother Peter in France, and three of his five sisters. He read Emma’s letter first, eager for news of his nephew and namesake who had apparently yet to speak _but looks about himself in such a serious manner and with his brow all a-furrowed, just like his uncle, so Stephen and I are certain we made the correct choice in naming him so_. Emma ended her letter, as she always did, by asking him to convey her most sincere and sisterly affections to his friend Lieutenant Jopson.  


The precise nature of his and Tom’s relationship was obviously not something Edward would ever discuss with his family. As a naval officer, it was not unusual for him to have no immediate plans to marry, and it was only right and natural that the profound friendship forged during his and Tom’s ordeal would continue once they were home. Edward had never given his family any reason to look closer than that and so they didn’t. His sisters had all taken to Tom immediately, as was to be expected, and indeed the younger three had conspired to tease Edward mercilessly by proclaiming Tom to be the brother they always wished they’d had.  


Tom, for his part, had initially been somewhat wary of Edward’s sisters, but the letter Edward had privately sent in advance of their arrival, explaining how their experiences in the Arctic had left his dear friend Lieutenant Jopson with an intolerance towards sudden noises—particularly laughter—had been well-received and even Lottie had been on her best behaviour.  


Edward picked up Peter’s letter and then placed it down again without breaking the seal. His brother had a little too much of their father in him and that could wait for tomorrow.  


After dinner, he and Tom donned their hats and coats and took a walk. The air was fresh and pleasant and at this time of year the light lingered well into the evening, drawing out the other couples and solitary gentlemen they passed. Tom cut a very fine figure, attracting more than a few admiring glances and making Edward feel unutterably proud to be the one at his side. It didn’t matter that those who saw them thought them merely friends; that they didn’t know it was Edward’s waistcoat Tom wore beneath his coat, or that the pale skin of his hip bore a fresh bruise left by Edward’s mouth. They didn’t know it was Edward that Tom called _dearest_ , murmuring and sighing it into the crook of his neck; that he was Tom’s and Tom his and they communicated this to each other in a hundred different ways as they walked.  


Without discussion, they followed the route they had taken almost every Sunday before Edward left for Lisbon. The walk along the water’s edge that was both balm and torment to the itch beneath his skin that worsened with each passing month on shore; the call of the sea that was as much his father’s inheritance as his stern countenance or the heavy tread that was a hazard to all but the sturdiest boots.  


The water was calm and the sky had faded to a flat grey. There were no ships but he and Tom stood side by side and watched the waves, wind plucking at their clothes and salt air filling their lungs. Edward simultaneously felt a sense of great peace descend upon him and something vast and boundless pressing against the inside walls of his chest; a feeling that didn’t seem to belong solely to him but he didn’t have the words to share. He moved so that his shoulder brushed Tom’s and sighed at the answering pressure.  


After several minutes of silence Tom touched his hand to the small of Edward’s back. “Let’s go home.”  


That feeling stayed with Edward as they walked home and as they undressed and slipped into bed. It stayed as they moved against each other, as he touched and kissed every beloved part of Tom: throat and collarbones and wrists; the curve of his spine, the backs of his knees, and most of all his smiling mouth. Deep, drugging kisses that Tom would break to drag his bearded cheek across Edward’s shoulders, his thighs, the hair on his chest, leaving him raw and wanting. He let Tom roll him onto his back, going easily, melting beneath the solid weight holding him down and cradling Tom between his thighs as they rocked together. They could find their end like this, easy like this, with shared breath and the warm slide of skin, but Tom had something else in mind.  


Edward watched as Tom coated his hand with oil. Unconsciously, his thighs fell a little wider apart but Tom just smiled and took hold of him in a slick grip. For years, Edward had watched Tom’s hands: the long fingers and broad palms, the dark hair on the back of his wrists that would sometimes be revealed when his cuffs rode up. He had watched and he had wondered what it would be like to be handled with that heady combination of care and confidence. Whether he could be brought to the same polished shine as the brass candlesticks beneath such attention.  


He knew Tom’s touch very well by now and Tom knew him. Edward’s breath caught and his toes curled at the slow, knowing slide and the intent gleam in Tom’s eyes. Attempting to rise got him Tom’s other hand pressed flat against his breastbone; a restraint that became a caress once he subsided.  


He had begun to think Tom might just keep him here like this, stroke and watch him until he spilled, when Tom moved to straddle his hips. Tom briefly touched his oiled hand back between his own legs, wetting the way, and then he was positioning Edward and sinking down.  


The feel of that hot tightness opening around him had Edward jolting upright but Tom caught hold of his hands and pinned them to the bed either side of his face. He kissed Edward, breathing ragged but lips soft. He was grinning when he drew back. “Stay there.”  


His grin widened at the rude noise Edward made in response to that and he kissed him again before continuing his descent. His hands kept a tight hold of Edward’s even though Edward was staying very still, heart pounding and trembling at the exquisite sensation of his body being welcomed into Tom’s. His hips wanted to drive upwards, to seek more of what was being offered, but he forced them to remain flat against the bed, letting Tom set his own pace. Tom’s face was tight with concentration, his breathing rapid and shallow. Slowly, so slowly, he sank down until he was fully-seated and let out a sighing groan that made Edward’s hips flinch helplessly upwards. Tom’s fingers laced between his and squeezed. His expression when he looked down at Edward was triumphant and transported.  


“Christ, you make me happy,” he said. “You make me so damned happy.”  


“Yes,” was all Edward could get past the sudden thickness in his throat. _Yes, I want to make you happy; yes, you make me happy too. I spent most of my life thinking I wasn’t built for happiness like this but I was wrong_.  


His meaning must have been clear on his face because Tom’s look softened and he leant down to kiss Edward, very gently, before releasing his hands and leaning back.  


This was one of Tom’s favourite ways to take Edward and he moved with practiced ease, rising and falling with confident movements of his strong thighs. Watching him take his pleasure was almost as good as the slick sweet clench of his body as it pulled and dragged at Edward, making him rock his hips upwards to meet Tom and startling a pleased grunt from him. Edward’s hands were free now so he ran them from Tom’s knees up to his thighs, across the soft coarse scratch of hair and the flex of working muscle. He stroked Tom’s hips, not to direct him, just for the feel of him. Muscle and bone and soft skin. His fingers explored the edges of that afternoon’s bruise and Tom made a shivery sound, moving with a little more force.  


Edward slid his palms inwards and down, following the spread of black hair until he reached his prize. Tom had softened during the slow strain of penetration but was mostly hard again and twitched as Edward stroked his thumbs to either side of the base.  


He glanced up at Tom. “Do you—?”  


“No.” Tom shook his head. “You first. First, I’m going to make you come and then I’m going to fill you up and spend inside you.”  


He let out a breathless laugh at the sharp, involuntary buck of Edward’s hips. “Yeah, I thought you’d like that.”  


“I like you,” Edward said, not caring how foolish he sounded when it made Tom smile at him like that. Tom raised one of Edward’s hands to his lips, kissed the knuckles and palm, and then placed it back on his hip. Edward moved the other hand to match.  


Typically, Tom didn’t want any attention paid to his cock when he was being taken. He preferred to focus on one sensation or the other and both at the same time was more a distraction than a delight. With patience and the right angle, he could be brought to his precipice without a hand on him and once, memorably, Edward had worked him over so thoroughly beforehand that he spilled at that first deep push inside; shocked and shaking and laughing as he did so.  


But that wasn’t what he wanted now. _You first_ he had said and his hips rose and fell in a rhythm seemingly designed to drive Edward stark mad, that snug grip tormenting him, encouraging him to work his own hips harder and faster in response. He thrust up and Tom bore down, spurring each other on. Tom’s bright eyes and the glint of his teeth made it a game, perhaps, or a dare. Something they had invented between them. Tom’s breathing grew harsh; sweat darkened the hair across his chest. One or both of them had begun to make rough pleading noises with every exhale. There was something more Edward needed and it only took a touch of Tom’s thigh to communicate it. Tom pulled off—an appalling absence—and settled on his back beside Edward, knees folded up and arms open.  


Tom moaned as Edward pushed back inside. He tangled a hand in Edward’s hair and dragged him down into a desperate kiss, heels pressing against the backs of Edward’s thighs, urging him on almost before he was ready to move. He had more leverage in this position and launched himself into Tom with abandon, kissing him until neither of them had the breath for it and could only pant against the other’s mouth. A ferocious pleasure seized hold of him and between that and the sounds Tom was making it did not take Edward long to feel his crisis approach. He tried to pull back, to withdraw, but Tom was vocal in his displeasure and his arms and legs tightened, keeping him where Tom wanted him, and so Edward’s release was cradled warm and wet and safe through the very last shudders.  


Beneath his cheek, Tom’s heart was very fast and he was trembling with need but he stroked Edward’s back and waited for him to stir before giving him a nudge. “Come on.”  


Limbs heavy and uncoordinated, Edward withdrew and let Tom put him on his stomach and draw him up by the hips. Edward rested his forehead on his folded arms. He murmured happily at the hands sweeping from his shoulders to his hips and the kisses pressed to his spine.  


He was expecting an oiled finger, so the wet touch of Tom’s tongue shocked a strangled noise from him and a flinch that Tom contained with a firm hold of his hips. This was something else Tom had shown him, this thrilling intimate attention that made him feel as if his entire body and all of its nerve endings had narrowed down to the place where Tom was licking into him. Edward buried his face in the sheets and shook. He was still sensitive and almost couldn’t tell whether it was good or not, it was so much, but Tom persisted and then it was very good indeed.  


The edges of the world had become somewhat blurred by the time a final open-mouthed kiss was dropped on his tailbone. Edward let Tom pull his hips up higher, widen his knees, rearrange him to his liking. Slick fingers breached him, sending a shiver down through his thighs, and were then replaced with a blunter pressure.  


Despite the need obvious in Tom’s shaking hands, he was gentle as he curled his body over Edward’s and eased inside. It had been five months since Edward last had this, long enough to forget one’s habits, but his body was warm and loose and knew what it wanted. He sighed at the kisses laid across his shoulders, groped along the arm wrapped around his chest until he found Tom’s hand and threaded their fingers together as Tom moved in him. Slow, shallow thrusts that deepened as he lovingly fucked Edward open. Edward had dreamt of this too: the beautiful ache of being filled; the solid, warm weight holding him close. The pleasure was less urgent than if he hadn’t spilled. More diffused. Something he could feel in all parts of his body; prickling across his scalp and the soles of his feet. Something he could let roll through him without chasing an end.  


“Do you think you could get a rise again?” Tom rubbed his beard against the back of Edward’s shoulder. “If I kept you here long enough. Kept you just like this.”  


As he spoke, his hips continued their slow, measured rhythm. He adjusted his weight slightly, causing him to brush up against an angle that made Edward’s breath shudder.  


“Do I look eighteen to you?”  


Tom laughed. “From this angle?” He blew a ticklish puff of air, stirring the hair at the back of Edward’s head. “Still no greys, Captain Little, sir. What is your secret?”  


Edward shot a look back over his shoulder. Tom was smiling but his eyes were serious, watchful. If Edward said it was what he wanted, Tom would ignore his own need and rock into Edward, slow and deep until he was hard and panting and ready to spill again. For hours, if Edward asked him. He would tease Edward afterwards, of course—he liked nothing better—and make some joke of the fact that they were both closer now to forty than to thirty, but despite his words his eyes would be soft and happy like he’d been given a gift of some sort.  


Something twinged in Edward’s neck as he craned further back for a kiss but it was worth it to feel Tom meet him halfway. When they parted, Edward dropped his head to his braced forearm.  


“No, my dear,” he said. “I just want to feel you.”  


Tom bit gently at the back of his neck. “Then, that I can do.”  


He stayed close, arm tight around Edward’s chest and mouth open against his shoulder, but his thrusts took on a faster, less-tempered rhythm that made Edward groan with approval. That he wasn’t going to spend didn’t lessen the joy of feeling Tom inside him; the sweet drag and press that sent muted sparks through him with every roll of Tom’s hips. Once, he had felt shame at the pleasure he found in this act but that seemed like another lifetime now. Another Edward Little. There was no room in their bed for shame, no part of him that didn’t love the way Tom surrounded him, filled him. This was one of the gifts their life together had brought them.  


Tom lasted longer than Edward would have thought, but within minutes he was muffling a cry against Edward’s shoulder and spilling wet inside him. His weight went slack and Edward let it bear them down into the sheets, still joined and trembling. They breathed together; Tom’s pounding heart gradually slowing against Edward’s back.  


Sleep had almost claimed Edward by the time Tom withdrew and insisted upon cleaning them both, something Edward submitted to with poor grace. Tom was thorough, but perhaps less so than usual as it didn’t seem like much time at all before he was extinguishing the lamp and drawing the blankets over them both.  


Edward tucked himself up against Tom’s back, wrapping an arm around his waist and drawing him in close. He closed his eyes against the dark of the room and nuzzled the nape of Tom’s neck with a contented groan. Despite the evening’s pleasures, he secretly thought this might be the part he loved most: both of them sleepy and satisfied and Tom in his arms.  


Tom sighed heavily. “I’m glad you’re home.”  


“Oh, I noticed. Anyone would think you were trying to make it more appealing to leave if this is the homecoming I am met with.”  


That got an amused huff from Tom and a shifting of limbs until he settled again. He was quiet for a time and Edward had half-fallen into a doze when Tom said, softly, “Well, perhaps next time you leave I’ll be going with you.”  


It was an easy image to conjure up: Tom standing beside him on the Valiant’s quarterdeck, laughing in the wardroom, driving Edward’s steward to despair. Tom had a sailor’s superstition of chasing away good news with a premature celebration, so he would speak of the lieutenant’s examination but not what might follow. This was the closest he had come to mentioning the future waiting for them.  


“Perhaps you will.” He sleepily petted Tom’s chest and burrowed in a little closer. Stifled a yawn against his shoulder. “Mm. That would be fine, wouldn’t it? There are so many places I want to see with you.”  


“Very fine.” Tom laid his arm over Edward’s and tucked it more securely around himself. “Just so long as none of these places have ice.”  


Edward smiled. “Consider it a promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> The hardest part of writing this was giving Edward positive thoughts about the sound of seagulls when, in reality, those noisy monsters wake me up every morning and crap on my windows. He's a deep sleeper, though, so I guess it checks out.
> 
> And just in case you want some visuals for [bearded](https://rubysharkruby.tumblr.com/post/612882091952275456/i-think-its-time-to-fix-this-broken-kingdom#notes) [Tom](https://rubysharkruby.tumblr.com/post/628169140802306048/the-broken-sword-to-rule-the-broken-kingdom-its#notes). Just picture a few more greys. And probably a different outfit.


End file.
